Chance held his front door open, as Verity walked through to find Imogen on her hands and knees scrubbing the tile floor in his tiny kitchen. The apartment was full of rich delicious aromas and a pile of pots and pans filled his small sink.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Chance asked stopping in his tracks.

Imogen looked up, her blond hair tied back in a cloth and her skirt tucked between her knees, her modest blouse unbuttoned slightly. “I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing all day,” she said, blowing a wisp of hair from her eyes.

“It’s the middle of the night.” Verity said.

Chance closed the door behind him with a gentle click and bolted all of the locks intended to keep the strangeness of the world on the outside. He looked at Verity with a raised eyebrow, and she could tell the scene before him was probably the strangest thing he’d seen all night.

Verity knelt down in front of her friend. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She nodded and looked away wiping her hands off on her skirt. “I’m going to need to find some fabric. I can’t keep wearing the same thing every day.”

Verity jumped up. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I meant to give you more clothes.”

Imogen looked over Verity’s short skirt and revealing halter top. “I can’t wear that,” she said with more accusation in her voice than Verity expected.

She flinched from the harsh words, exactly the kind of thing she expected from someone at the compound, but hearing the judgment in Imogen’s voice bothered her.

Imogen didn’t realize how her words affected other people. She’d always been a little naïve and that had worked in her favor on the compound. But here, naivety was like having a big red target on your back. Verity was just street-smart enough to survive, how was Imogen ever going to make it?

Before Verity had a chance to say anything Chance finally found his voice. “You wait here, I have some clothes you can use the fabric from to sew however you’d like.” He disappeared into the hall. As he rounded the corner toward the bedroom he gave Verity a glance with a sad smile.

“What the ever-loving fuck?” Chance’s voice came like a roar from the back bedroom.

Imogen covered her mouth with her hand and giggled.

Verity gave her a hard look and asked, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, you know, men have no idea how to take care of themselves. I mean, there were dirty clothes and workout clothes and shoes everywhere and I even found a gun in his closet. Do you really know who this person is?”

“Everyone has a gun back home.” Verity said unsurprised by the idea Chance would own one. It only made sense, and now that she knew more about the business Garvan ran, it made even more sense. She couldn’t help wondering whether or not he’d ever actually used it.

“It doesn’t seem quite right, you and this man we don’t know have already moved in together sharing a bed—”

“We haven’t moved in together. We’re only staying here for a few days until things get sorted, and we’re sure you’re safe. You don’t need to worry. Chance just wants to help.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Verity couldn’t quite explain it herself but knew Chance could be trusted, even with all the questions about his past and how she really knew very little about him when it came right down to it. But something in her gut told her he was exactly the kind of man she hoped he was. Maybe it was wishful thinking, maybe it was because she’d gotten in too deep far faster than she’d intended. Maybe she knew how much it was going to hurt when she found out she was wrong. But for now, she needed to believe in him, and she got the impression he needed that too.

Chance stomped back out of his bedroom and threw a pair of oversized sweatpants and a few t-shirts on the kitchen counter. He looked around him with narrow eyes.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I appreciate that you cleaned, and the food smells amazing. And I completely understand needing to work with your hands when you’re upset. But rearranging my furniture and the clothes in my drawers was a step too far. Do whatever you want in the kitchen. I don’t care if you want to scrub the bathroom until the paint peels off. But leave my room alone while you’re here. I need at least one thing that’s just mine.” He spared a glance at Verity. “And a little privacy.”

His words came out in spurts, like it took effort to remember to be polite and not just scream in frustration.

Verity still wasn’t sure what she had done, but how bad could it be?

Imogen nodded her head. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. I was just on a roll, and it was a way to pass the time. Plus, your room really was a disaster.”

“It’s all right, but next time, try watching TV.”

Imogen tilted her head in question.

“You’re kidding me. Your cult didn’t have television? Even the slums have television.”

“It’s not a cult,” Imogen shot back.

Verity walked up to Chance and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Why don’t you take a shower or do something to calm your nerves before bed. You could have stayed for the fights if you wanted to, you know. Or you could go back.” She offered.

He looked down at her, and his brown eyes scanned between hers. “No, I’d rather be here. Plus, if I’m going to be in the ring tomorrow, I want to get up early and go for a run.

Verity nodded and kissed him on the shoulder squeezing his waist again.

In the corner of her eye, she could see Imogen’s eyes widen at the mention of a fight.

“Maybe you’re right. I’ll hop in the shower. You spend some time with your friend.” He took her chin between his metal fingers and tilted it up toward him. She smiled into his gentle kiss, loving that he’d gone so quickly from refusing to touch her at all with his cybernetics to reaching for her without thought.

When Chance disappeared from view, Imogen rounded on her. “What the Devil, Verity?

Welcome to Cyn City was all she could think of to say but she bit her tongue. “It can take a while to adjust to life in the city. You should watch the television and learn how people talk. It’s more different than you realize.”

“So, I’m witnessing. A cyborg? I mean I knew that when we first came here, but I was in shock. Now I’ve been alone all-night thinking about everything and my goodness, Verity! Cyborgs rape people! They’re violent.”

Verity sighed. “Does Chance seem violent to you?”

Imogen shrugged. “I don’t know, what was he saying about a fight?”

Verity flinched and hesitated. She didn’t want to tell her friend everything going on. It would be hard enough for her to adjust to life here without knowing just how much trouble Verity had gotten herself into. “It’s just boxing. He works with boxers, and there’s a club where they fight. People watch them like sport and bet on it. He’s fighting tonight.”

Imogen narrowed her eyes at her. “I know when you’re lying, Verity. But, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay. I guess we’ve both been keeping secrets.” Imogen bowed her head, and her shoulders slumped.

“Do you want to talk about Hiram?”

“No.”

“Did you sleep at all?” Verity approached her friend and took her hand.

“No.” She shook her head. “I tried to a little, but I needed to do something, you know?”

“I know, tomorrow maybe we’ll go out, find clothes you’re comfortable with and that fit in a little bit better. I’ll show you around some, it’s not so dangerous during the day. And you get used to it.”

“Have you?”

“Sometimes I think I have, and sometimes—Nothing here makes any sense at all. But this is my life now.” She wrapped both arms around Imogen and pulled the beautiful girl in close. “It’ll take time, but you’re safe here. I’ll take care of you.”

Imogen relaxed into the embrace. “Just like you always have.”

“As terrible as I know all of this has been for you, I’m really glad you’re here.” The two women worked together to straighten the kitchen back up and put away the mountains of food Imogen had prepared. How she’d found that much food in Chance’s cabinets Verity couldn’t imagine.

When Imogen was settled back on the couch and seemed calm enough to sink into sleep. Verity made her way to Chance’s bedroom.

Strange how comfortable it was to think this was where she belonged. In his home, in his arms, in his bed.

When she walked in, she found Chance standing in the middle of an absolutely pristine room with just a towel wrapped around his hips and his hands at his side. She took a moment to appreciate the tattoos running across his shoulders and down his human arm. Even relaxed, his back muscles stood out, impressive and strong. He wasn’t built like some of the other fighters she’d seen, the ones who looked more like tanks made out of bulging muscles and hard metal. He was lean, his body streamlined and firm.

She placed her hands on his shoulder blades and stood with him for a moment, resting the front of her body against his warm back. She settled her cheek against his spine.

“Tell me you’re going to be okay,” she begged. “Even if it’s a lie, tell me you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ve never lost a fight, and this time I have something to fight for.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He turned in her arms, so they stood face-to-face, her hands gripping his strong chest muscles. She looked into his eyes searching beneath his hard exterior to find the kind man within.

“I know,” he said. “But that’s all I can offer.” He held her tight, and she relished the clean smell of him. The soap and water had washed away the stain of the night, leaving behind just Chance. He kissed her softly, their lips moving together like a promise.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered. “But no funny business out of you. I need sleep before the fight.”

Verity giggled and nuzzled into his neck. “That works for me. I’d like to be able to wake tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind me next to you, though. I don’t really want to let you go yet.”

He kissed her hair and breathed in deeply. “That sounds perfect.”